On the eve of Mother’s Day, Mr Surfer instructed me to get up early the following morning. I had to be dressed in my running gear and also pack a change of clothes. Not giving me any further details, it was all a big surprise.

Right.

8:30am on Mother’s Day, I found myself in line to register for the 5 kms Mother’s Day Classic (Welcome to Surprise Number One).

At 9:30am in freezing temperatures of 2 degrees, I started the race.

At around 10am, I finished it in 31 minutes 23 seconds, coming in at 513 in a crowd of 1,291. 75th among the other 268 in my age group. The 321st female out of the 948 participants. Not bad, yes?

Then at 11am, it was time for Surprise Number Two:

An hour and a half Thai massage…

Mr Surfer did good this year. He did real good.

How was your Mother’s Day?

Linking up with Trish over at My Drummer Boys for Wordless Wednesday. Happy Hump Day!

I’m extremely fortunate to live in my dream location. Ever since I graduated from university and moved to Sydney, this was the spot that I had always hoped to eventually settle down. Years later, after much saving and hard work, I’m here. With my family.

But our modest 2 bedroom unit has started to reach its limits in space. That’ll happen with growing twins.

As with any old building, it has its structural flaws. One of them is the slight rising damp we have in the twinlets’ room.

We’ve always kept a close monitor on it. Even having the area re-plastered and re-painted. Repairs though, can only do so much. Moving out is imminent.

But we know that if we are to move to a bigger home, we will need to move out of my dream location.

"Sold !": In front of our new home

Each time the topic comes up, I somehow manage to avoid it. Whether for the good or bad, I leave it up to my husband to do the searching on the real estate web-sites. I’m not in denial about our growing necessity to find a new home. I guess I’m just not ready to leave what I’ve considered perfect surroundings. I don’t want to face the change.

But then one Sunday, a friend told us of the severe situation he experienced in his apartment. Walls had to be knocked out and eventually, as there were little toddlers involved, everyone had to move out.

The tradesman told him the potential health risks that rising damp can cause. Especially for young children.

His story scared us.

The following day, Mr Surfer called me from work. We discussed our options. In a state of panic, we mutually agreed that it was time for drastic measures.

“I’m going to set up some meetings with real estate agents this week…” my husband solemnly said.

The sudden urgency overwhelmed me. However, this time, I no longer had the choice to steer away. As much as I had resisted the conversation in the past, for my family’s sake, I now needed to face the realities.

There was a pause on the line. But then, I replied.

“Okay, let’s start working on a plan…”

Much to my surprise, once I surrendered to it, I also overcame my fear of leaving our home.

Instantly, I felt that it was important to heed to what the signs were telling us. It wasn’t coincidence that our friend told us his story. There was a gut feeling that Something – far greater and more powerful than us – was directing us to the next chapter of our future.

That week was quickly filled with real estate agents inspecting our home. We also asked a specialist to assess the rising damp.

In the end, we were told it was minor. That there would be no direct or any harm for the boys. We can stay here for as long as we want to.

But, now I know I’ll be ready to leave. As much as I love this place and how it represents an example of what dreams are made of; it is only four walls.

I’m learning to carefully look out and listen for signs of change. They sometimes just quietly brew in the background like a storm in the distance.

Other times, without a word or whisper, they swiftly take us along into the next stage of life.

But having a sense of awareness to the fluidity of this world is helping me move along with it. Letting the tide of circumstance take its natural course and graciously accept what’s in store.

There comes a time in this married woman’s life, where she needs to weigh out the greatness of her beloved Mr Surfer.

He still has a fine head of hair (Although, I’ve had a penchant for follicly challenged men in the past…ahem…)

He doesn’t have a beer gut (Well, it’s more of a lolly gut, but that doesn’t count, does it ?)

And I still melt in those strong, broad shoulders every time he gives me a huge bear hug (Too much sap ?)

So. In the grander scheme of things, and overshadowing all of these beautiful features (I make him sound like a brand new sports car), the undeniable fact that he now needs a pair of reading glasses, ain’t so bad. Right ?

But, just as he’s in denial about his age, he’s even more so about his terrible eyesight. The man had an endless list of excuses.

“I’m just tired…”

Okay, fair enough, I’ll let you have that one.

“The lighting in this room is terrible”

Um, we just changed the light bulb yesterday…

“The font in this book is too small…”

Any bigger and it’d be one of twinlets’ picture books…

Finally, after months of squinting and pulling that stupid widen-the-eyes-with-an-opened-mouth look (You know, that face we haven when applying mascara ?), Mr Surfer surrendered to the idea of getting his eyes checked. Hallelujah !

A few weeks ago, after work one day, he went to the local optometrist and sent through some of the potential options to my iPhone.

And guys, this is where I will be absolutely truthful and confess to what was going on in my head.

There was an uncomfortable moment where I thought that maybe, I was going to have to settle and make do with the good set of hair and lolly gut . Because the choices I saw on my phone were…well, let’s face it…far from pretty.

He assured me before he sent them through, that the photos weren’t the most ideal because…he was due for a haircut. Yes, of course. It’s the hairstyle that’s the problem…

"Hello, can I interest you in buying some life insurance today ???"

"No ? Well then how about a set of encyclopedias ???"

"Kevin ? Does Julia know you've been hiding here ???"

Luckily, for his final purchase decision, I was there ready to supervise (cough), I mean, give my constructive opinion. In the end, we settled on these:

They took some time (for me) to get used to.

The other night, while giving his new specs a test run, he told me he could see my face clearly now…blemishes and all.

Gee, thanks.

Is this what they mean when people say, “As the years go by, you’ll see your relationship in a different light ?”

I hope not.

Edit: All photos were published under the kind permission of Mr Surfer…sorta…kinda…not really…

Joining in with Debra from Home Life Simplified and her 52 Week Simply Your Life Challenge. This week, we talk about overcoming fears…

You can pretty much slot me in the adrenaline-starved, adventurous type.

From climbing Mt Fuji (hungover, mind you…), taking part in an 1km ocean swim at Bondi Beach (Watch out for the sharks, baby), running the 14 km City2Surf (twice), deep sea diving in the Philippines, surfboaring in Hokkaido, surfing in Hawaii…

In fact, there’s still a huge bucket list involving all sorts of extreme sports and dares.

Bungee jumping and sky-diving are the top 2.

When it comes to such adventures, I ignore the physical fear. I focus on the thrill and the exhiliration. I’m striving to get closer to a completely fulfilled life.

To reach the ultimate goal of no regrets.

However, when it comes to vulnerabilities and emotional fear ? These I have still yet to overcome.

I can find it extremely difficult to let someone know if I’m feeling hurt. Or feeling angry or betrayed. Even just simply let down.

My excuse is that the feelings are too overwhelming to deal with. That there is no emotional room left in me to articulate what’s actually hurting me inside. So instead, I tend to shut down. I lose all communication channels and it’s been known to drive my husband and other loved ones around the bend.

Being an extreme extrovert, this behaviour doesn’t make sense to others. But it does to me.

As difficult as it is to admit; it is my make up. And over the years, particularly the past decade, I’m steadily learning what needs to change within.

There have been some memorable instances when Mr Surfer has challenged me to break that stubborn code of silence. He waits patiently until I’m ready to face the hurt or anger. Sometimes, it’s taken days.

I eventually open up. But the emotional energy needed is immense.

It’s my own trapeze act, trying to get to that catcher. I know I want to do my twists and turns. I can envisage how relieved I will feel once I complete my jump and get to the other side. I know that there’s a huge safety net underneath assuring me that I have nothing to fear.

It’s just a matter of taking that inital, terrifying leap into the depths of what is actually upsetting me.

At the end, I clear my trapeze jump. Without doubt, the ordeal is draining. But there’s always someone on the other end, either catching me or rescuing me.

What becomes apparent is rediscovering the importance of living life without regrets. Just as I embrace my physical challenges, it’s now about identifying and facing the emotional ones. Rather than keeping them tightly locked up within, for me, life is about trying to learn to share the pain, processing through it with those you love and trust.

Realising that the free fall into my vulnerabilities is actually another step to achieving a fulfilling life.

When I first discovered that I had lost my blog, I tried so very hard to put things in perspective. I had a long chat with Mr Surfer that New Year’s Eve (Yeah, what a way to ring in the new year), and he tried to help me see things from a different angle.

“A lot of those posts were just photos and mainly link ups, right ?” he said in his usual calm voice.

For most of the part, he was right.

But there was a handful of posts that were hard to let go. Ones that I wrote from the depths of my heart, sometimes with tears in my eyes while at the keyboard. So, I kept rehashing them in my head; trying to remember what I wrote verbatim; hoping the words would come back with ease like they did the first time.

So, when I saw the this post again – a tribute I wrote to Mr Surfer for Father’s Day – my heart skipped a beat. There were little tears of joy. This is the post I never want to lose again. And on this day of love – beautiful, committed, undying love – I have decided to repost it…

*****

Once upon a courtship time ago, a forlorn couple sat in the middle of a lush, sprawling park. Despite the perfect sunny weather that Sunday afternoon, they sat across from each other, both with their head hanging low. Avoiding eye contact, they were both in deep thought.

Around them the world was in its happiest form. Dogs and their owners were walking by with a spring in their step. Children and parents playing happily just metres away. Everyone around them was oblivious to the couple’s dire situation.

It was a round of ”Where is this all going ?” conversation. The unavoidable yet necessary issue that most couples face.

“I don’t know if I want a family or children. I don’t need a fixed address to say that I’m settled and content,” he muttered.

As soon as the words poured out, the girl felt the tension rise to her shoulders and then to her head. Her heart felt heavy and she suddenly found it difficult to breath.

“Okay, then. Will I guess there’s no solution here. I do want a family. I do want children. I need a fixed address because it encompasses all those other things that I said I want”

She said carefully but soon began to sob.

Crying in public was so lame, she thought.

Yet nothing could help her stop.

*****

Somehow a turning point miraculously made its way to that relationship barely hanging on a shoe-string. Not only was it all salvaged, it went from strength to strength.

And for me, that fateful Sunday afternoon couldn’t have been more of a stark contrast to the moment we both sat at the doctor’s office – a few years later – ready to talk about our battles with fertility.

Sitting nervously next to me, I can vividly remember his opening sentence.

“Well, we would really…” his voice began to break. He paused for a moment to maintain his composure and hold back the emotional tears.

“We really would very much like to start a family…” he finally said.

Tears still managed to well up in his blue eyes.

I couldn’t believe that this was that same man.

The man that was so close to walking away from a future with me. Because starting a family wasn’t in his best interest.

Yet, this really is the same man.

The one who firmly decided that this is the year to put his career on hold. Sacrificing it all and instead choosing to take the company’s offer of three months paternity leave.

To take full advantage of being a completely hands-on dad.

That experiencing fatherhood with such freedom is indeed a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The very same man that was so adamant that having children was well out of his future plans, was happily playing with his twin boys at the beach today.

Teaching them simple joys. Of soaking up the sun, feeling the sand between their toes and breathing in the salty air.

To that same man today – the devoted father, whose boys are the absolute centre of his life and universe:

With my hair straightened and blow-dried, I precariously applied a light coat of lip gloss. I studied myself in the mirror one last time and thought, “Hmm…not too bad, girlfriend.”

The meticulous preparation and the subtle pep talk to self was reminiscent of being single and first dates. But it wasn’t. Instead, I left the bathroom and went to find my husband to ask for his opinion.

“Wow ! You look like a brand new person…” he beamed.

The moment his face lit up when I walked into the room, I knew I hadn’t just been placing tabs on myself.

I knew I felt good. I knew I felt confident and comfortable in my skin.

But he proved that it was also visible.

The new me.

Walking to the bus stop, waiting in anticipation, I was eager to meet up with my newly acquainted friends.

I believe that people step into your life at the right time for the right reasons. I found it to be true when meeting my husband.

Having only met these ladies once before, we established a connection in the first instance. So much so that I went home not being able to sleep – my head whirling with the possibilities of where the friendship could take us.

The only natural progression was to see them again soon after. To be absolutely sure we were on the same page. That the initial profound conversations were not a fluke.

And they weren’t.

We immediately picked up where we left off – sharing secrets, trading stories, planning goals together.

It had been awhile since I felt involved. Where my opinion mattered. Where my past experiences in the corporate world were considered valuable. An asset, even. Delving into the conversations – feeding off from each other’s excitement and passion – I felt alive again.

I know I never died.

This is not to claim that my roles as a wife and mother are unsatisfying. Or that my existing long-term relationships and friendships are inadequate. Getting caught in the humdrum of life, sometimes there is little time left for family and a handful of friends.

So, how is it possible that I establish a new circle ?

Where did the need come from ?

The unquenchable search to figure out my purpose in life beyond motherhood.

As some of you may have gathered from my Things I Know post on Friday, I was darn excited about going to the movies with Hubby for date night.

As it turned out, there was nothing showing in the cinemas that could entice either one of us (‘Hangover Part 2’, ‘Pirates of the Caribbean 4’ ???)

Besides, we kept the arrangement for our beloved Nulla Nanna to come over as she had happily volunteered for baby-sitting duties. We just couldn’t waste an evening by staying home. Despite the miserable weather.

Dressed in my new slinky jeans, Hubby and I decided to tread some old territory. The past haunts of our pre-twinlet yesteryears.

We went to our old pub where we spent many a drunken Saturday night with other child-free couples – drinking, talking and socializing. Nothing out of the extraordinary for Sydney savoir faire.

But six years on, things definitely felt different.

The same table was there to take our usual order. Inviting us to still enjoy our familiar, favoured beverages.

Yet, the pub noise was a little too rowdy and raucous for what we were now used to. I was appalled with the rambunctious crowd next to us. Their arrogant behaviour was full of profanities.

Four years ago at this very pub, my future husband and I would occasionally have a private, yet polite dinner together. We would tip toe around the topic of commitment, marriage and children. He wasn’t ready. I was eager and keen.

Now we were comparing twinlet photos on our phones, discussing their latest learnings and most recent cute moments.

Tonight, we talked about our future: where were we going to move to, in a city that was already so unaffordable for young families to maintain an urban lifestyle; what were the best options for day-care for our boys; what were my career plans beyond motherhood.

Breaking into the surface of planning for a young family with all its potential choices and paths.

Keeping all options open, yet staying as pragmatic as possible.

What a giant leap four years can do.

And besides now being a mother and holding responsibility for two precious souls, I still could enjoy the thrill of having a drink.

The warm, tingly feeling of a crisp white wine and the comforts of conversation that come with.

Walking back to the car in the rain, hand in hand with my beloved, I could see how all that was familiar has stepped into a time capsule of the past.

Life now is good. It’s not complete. But it’s certainly happy and content.

I love our other neighbours. But this couple above us really test my patience.

Similar to many in our area, we live in an old building, consisting of four units where creaky floorboards and tissue thin walls are inevitably part of the territory.

Part of Sydney apartment urban living means that you have to tolerate neighbours who elephant stomp. Late night muffled bedroom noises of heated conversations are par for the course. You somehow immune yourself to hearing upstairs’ toilet flush (and other *ahem* toilet activities).

That stuff, I can deal with.

But then, we enter an entire new level of misdemeanour.

On several occasions, usually in the early hours of a Sunday morning, Hubby has had to force himself out of bed to knock on their door to politely ask to keep the blaring noise of their stereo down – only to have our intoxicated neighbour slam the door in his face. He does eventually turn down the volume. Begrudgingly, I’m sure.

By the time Hubby returns to bed, I am completely riled up over such intolerable behaviour. Hubby gets upset too but isn’t as demonstrative as I am.

So, I have become this grumpy neighbour and I make sure I let them know.

When the wife bumps into me at the front foyer and greets me, I will barely mumble a reply.

Hanging the clothes out on the line, I completely avoid eye contact with the husband as he walks straight past me to get to his car.

Admittedly, all this pent up anger and angst is emotionally tiring. Yet, I have let it continue to brew inside me.

Until the other day.

While I was cooking dinner, Hubby happened to look out our back door.

“Our neighbour has left his car interior lights on…” he said.

Just as I grumbled, “Serves him right,” I realised that Hubby had made his way upstairs to actually tell him.

Yes, the same neighbour who has slammed the door in my husband’s face so many times I’ve run out of fingers.

It was then I realised that I was learning the art of forgiveness.

Right in front of my flat nose. Right under my own rickety rack roof.

I’m not here to tell you what a saint my husband is. (It’s State of Origin season, so he is not so ideal at the moment).

Likewise, I am even further from such benevolence.

But six months away from our second anniversary, I had an “Ah ! I get it !” moment about married life.

I started thinking about our wedding vows. How we promise to forever love each other, be there for each other, keep each other happy.

That is all undeniably important and sacred.

But how about the importance of living through example ? Learning life virtues from your partner ?

As parents, we expect to be role models for our children.

Lest we forget to be role models to each other.

So, the other morning, as I was routinely hanging out the washing and my blessed neighbour walked by, I gave him a smile – albeit a little forced.

Coming up to my (barely scratching the surface) second year as a mum, for Mother’s Day, Nulla Nanna baby sat the twinlets while Hubby and I escaped our uniform of drabby tracksuit pants and sloppy joes and actually got dressed up to head out to the city for a special Mother’s Day matinee of “Jersey Boys”.

This was a far cry from last year’s Mother’s Day. I remember it well.

I was bowled over in nipple thrush pain. Lying in bed, disillusioned from sleep deprivation, I was battling conflicting emotions.

On the day dedicated for mothers, a day that was supposed to be especially memorable because it was my first, I actually didn’t feel any joy about being a mother. And I felt guilty for having these thoughts.

The boys were barely three months. Motherhood thus far had been overwhelming and daunting.

On that particular Sunday, I just needed some peace. I wanted some relief from the constant pain in my right breast. I was desperate for some quiet. To appease and to avoid the wrath, Hubby took the boys out for a long walk.

So, this year, I was pain-free and far more lucid in my sentiments.

Which in turn, helped me realise that my own rocky road in parenting has made me further appreciate my own mum.

On our drive to the city, I called her. Within the nano second I heard her voice, I teared up as I wished her a Happy Mother’s Day.

The current status of the relationship with my mother is bittersweet.

There were many, many tumultuous years of trying to live up to her expectations. Then, early in adulthood while living overseas, I kept myself at a safe distance from the pressure. As such, I ended up continuously clashing with her uptight, conservative Asian views on marriage, family and having children.

She always wanted to know what was the hold up. I kept telling her to mind her own business.

Suffice to say, now that I am married with children, we have somewhat reached an equilibrium.

Mum watching me walk down the aisle...finally

Yes, there are still moments when she pushes my short-fuse button. But ultimately, she is a devoted and doting grandma to my boys.

So, for the part that’s bittersweet ? It does break my heart to see that it’s taken me all of my rebellious teenage years and most of my young, stubborn adult life to truly understand and respect her. As much as I think she made it tough for me as her only daughter, indeed I’m sure I have sent her around the proverbial twist.

With my mum welcoming her 80’s in the next couple of years, it’s always in the back of my mind how I wish we could have mended things a lot sooner.

But then I think, my life has to run its own, perhaps unconventional course for me to eventually be grateful for those who have always been there.

On our wedding day: Mum bestowing us with her blessings; Me telling her I love her

Don’t they say it’s not the destination, but the journey that counts ?

I have a memory of an elephant. I retain every piece of stupid, irrelevant trivia. Quiz me on Michael Jackson song lyrics and I will leave you in the dust.

Alas, this memory bank of silly garbage also holds onto past wrong doings of others and misunderstandings. I can’t seem to let them go.

Now, I can just write about them. Reverting to cathartic blogging.

Around seven years ago – in a single gal version of my former corporate self – business reasons took me to Tokyo for a 6 month stint. There, I had befriended a Chinese female colleague.

Besides her native Mandarin, she spoke fluent Japanese while her English on the other hand, was rusty. Meeting in the middle, we conversed in Japanese.

Miss J was a spruce, young lass in her mid-20’s. Several years my junior, she was over-the-top keen to marry her Japanese boyfriend.

“Love”

Yet, most mornings she would come to work unhappy because he was struggling with commitment issues.

Attempting to prompt a marriage proposal, she had brought him back to her hometown in the Szechuan Province to meet her folks. Miss J had even arranged professional couple photos in preparation for the engagement and wedding invitations.

Although, back in Tokyo, he kept avoiding the topic of matrimony like it was bad sushi.

One Monday morning she came into work almost in tears. By lunchtime, we found a quiet place to talk. There, she opened the floodgates.

Why won’t he commit ? We’ve already had the professional photos done, so why is he stalling ? I want to start booking wedding venues before the wedding peak season starts, but why won’t he co-operate ?

And so the discussion continued.

I suggested that it might be better to slow things down. Perhaps he needed more time to be comfortable with a life decision such as marriage.

Being an intelligent girl, I thought she would see reason.

Instead I found myself in the middle of an emotional firing line.

Between sobs she cried, “Grace-san, the thing is…I just don’t want to find myself at your age and in your situation.”

Wham !

I thought, maybe, just maybe, my Japanese listening ability had temporarily gone haywire and I had misunderstood what she was trying to say.

But no. I had heard correctly.

Because she then retorted, “I know that sounds rude and terrible, but it’s true. I want to be married before my 30’s. Live in an apartment big enough to have a dining table.”

DOUBLE Wham ! Ker-pow !!!

I knew my single status at the time wasn’t the most ideal. A month prior leaving Sydney, I had started dating someone. With my impending departure, we somehow decided to keep the relationship going. However, since arriving in Tokyo, our communication had deteriorated. Rapidly.

“Life”

It was highly probable that I was returning to Sydney to face heartbreak. Of course, there were no other potential prospects to speak of, either.

As a 30-something lost in love, you could see why an ambitiously keen-to-be-a bride-Chinese girl would not want my life.

Later that evening, I had a dinner date with my fabulous girlfriends who were an eclectic group of married and singles.

About Me…

Indonesian-born, Grace spent extensive time living and working overseas, primarily in Japan. She now resides in Sydney where she is mum to identical twin boys and wife to an avid surfer. While she has happily replaced office life with motherhood, Grace has discovered that a 10 year career in corporate sales and being fluent in 3 languages is futile when dealing with toddler tantrums and singing “The Wheels On The Bus”